


Somnus

by fridaysblues (taemin)



Category: EXO (Band), SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Sleepy Sex, Succubi & Incubi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 19:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3540875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taemin/pseuds/fridaysblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taemin visits Jongin at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somnus

Late summer in the city is stifling. Long past sunset, and still, like a brick oven, heat rising in ripples off the pavement. Jongin lies back on top of the sheets, naked and half-delirious, hyper-aware of the rivulet of sweat working its way down his hairline. The windows are open, expectant. A passing breeze disturbs the curtains.

He closes his eyes. Time passes. He swears he doesn't sleep. If asked, he thinks he can remember the blaring whine of each passing car in the street below, but when the bed dips under the unexpected weight of a visitor, he opens his eyes and the moonlight has shifted, bathing the room in silvery blue light. Minutes slip away.

The visitor—Taemin. Always on nights like these. It must be near midnight, or not long past. His eyes are so bright in the dark, lit from within, like beacons burning in the distance. Shoulders broad, and bare. His mouth, shaped like sex and intent on it, lips parted slightly, just waiting. He hovers, inches from Jongin's face.

"Hello," he whispers, his smile curling handsomely.

Jongin submits. His consciousness wavers—he is fully awake, he believes, but he is somewhere else in these moments, his hands flexing to seize Taemin's jaw, his neck, to settle on his arms, moving of their own volition. A strange sense of deja vu washes over him. How many times have they done this? He knows Taemin's dimensions so well. He takes a backseat to his body's impulses, spine arching off the bed as if pulled by an imaginary string at the top of his head.

"You were expecting me," Taemin says. 

Jongin nods. He always hopes, expects, wants. Yearns for him, on the nights he lies alone, unfulfilled. He is dizzy, knows that this is a sickness, but will not seek a cure.

"Wake up, then," Taemin coaxes. His laugh is low, throaty. His fingertips trace the curve of Jongin's lower lip, his teeth chasing them, nipping. "I want you."

Jongin opens his eyes, although he doesn't remember closing them. Taemin's there, his glittering eyes black and fierce, but soft, too, somehow. His palm skims down Jongin's bare chest. His hand feels even hotter than the air that surrounds them, cocooned in the sweltering closeness of Taemin's presence.

"Unless you'd rather sleep?" Taemin lets the suggestion float in the humid air between them, although his grin makes his words sound insincere. He knows Jongin will fight exhaustion tooth and nail for five more minutes with Taemin. 

Jongin lets his knees fall apart on the bedspread, his cock already half-hard just from the pressure of being trapped between his stomach and Taemin's body. "No," Jongin says, "I want—" and then trails off, his thoughts wandering again. The words get lost and then die, but Taemin hears them anyway.

Taemin slithers away. Jongin shivers, flashing cold from the sudden loss, and then white-hot. His skin memorizes Taemin's handprint as it sears into the flesh of his thighs, holding him to the bed, anchoring him. His head feels heavy and his eyelids start to sink again, and then Taemin's mouth is on him.

Jongin sees stars—literally, as he tosses his head back and sees out the window, the moon, upside down and lovely, milky white, watching them. It traces the hunch of Taemin's shoulders, the rippling musculature of his back. From this angle, watching down between his legs, the moonlight casts a halo against Taemin's hair. Jongin laughs and runs his fingers through it, trying to brush it away. It's not befitting, anyway.

"Jongin."

Jongin opens his eyes. He must have drifted off again. His whole body's on fire now. Taemin's holding onto his calf, his grip tight. He smiles at Jongin. Jongin feels the blunt nudge of Taemin's cock as he pushes inside him and has to fight to stop his eyes from rolling back in his head. He keeps losing time every time he blinks, and he doesn't want to miss a second of this.

Taemin, too, looks lost for a moment. Jongin strokes Taemin's kneecap gently, waiting for him to return. He keeps his eyes stretched wide, watching the minute expressions flit across Taemin's face as he goes somewhere and struggles to return. His mouth is moving, but he's not saying anything, struck dumb, his lower lip heavy and full. 

Impatiently, Jongin reaches up and yanks him down by the nape of his neck and then Taemin's kissing him, his tongue pushing past Jongin's teeth. He breaks the kiss after a moment and tucks his face into the curve of Jongin's neck, breathing fire with each snap of his hips. He's holding himself back—Jongin can feel it, the measured caution, the slow way he palms Jongin's hips, pulling Jongin's body to meet him halfway. The bed's barely shaking. Taemin could put him through a wall, if he really wanted to.

Jongin wonders, but thinks he wants him to.

The world flickers. 

Jongin's face is crushed into the bedspread and Taemin's breathing hot in his ear. Taemin smells like musk, like sweat and arousal, heavy and dark. Familiar. It consumes Jongin, an unquenchable thirst. He's trying to breathe it in, catalogue it, memorize it, but he keeps hyperventilating in the process. Jongin's throat is sore and he's choking on his moans. He can't remember when he started moaning. He can't imagine stopping, not when it feels like this. Every nerve in his body strains to meet Taemin, to be touched by him, to feel him.

"I would stay inside you forever if I could," Taemin pants, his pace unflagging. The slap of skin-on-skin echoes as his thighs meet Jongin's. Jongin focuses on the details to stay aware: Taemin's hands, large, and their fingers laced together; the slip of Taemin's sweaty body as he drapes his weight over Jongin—he feels so light, hollow-boned, although he's pure, lean muscle: pale skin stretched over sinew and skeleton. 

_I would let you._ Jongin doesn't know if he actually says it out loud—doesn't recognize any of the broken sounds in the room although they must be coming from him if Taemin's still whispering in his ear. 

"Stay with me," Taemin urges hoarsely as Jongin's body goes rigid underneath him, his cock kicking. It always ends like this, desperate for just one more moment together, but the urgency keeps driving them forward towards release like a runaway train. 

Jongin fights to hold on, but he can't any longer. Taemin's too good.

"Stay."

Jongin comes. Sleep follows.

 

Hands on his face—Taemin's hands. His mouth, trailing kisses down Jongin's cheek, his mouth. His skin is cool to the touch, now, no longer blazing. Jongin can still feel Taemin on him, inside him. 

He squints. It's not quite daybreak yet, but the room is light. Taemin pulls the sheet up to Jongin's hips.

"There you are," Taemin says. Grins. He's still naked, too, propped up on one elbow, watching Jongin with an intensity in his gaze that has Jongin's chest flushing anew. Taemin bows over him to slot their mouths together, fingers tangled in Jongin's hair.

Jongin catches at his hand. A wave of drowsiness washes over him. He feels full of sand, weighed down by something. Taemin, the anchor, pulling him back to sleep.


End file.
